Principal Simmons II: The Kids (of Thicket Valley) Aren't Alright
by HumanDictionary
Summary: With his lid flipped from their jungle adventure, Robert Simmons relocates to a small quiet town.
1. Intro: Meltdowns and Moving Vans

He gave teaching sixth grade his best try, truly he did. But little by little, the trauma of that summer's adventures in San Lorenzo began to get the better of the upbeat and unflappable Robert Simmons. His painfully liberal use of the word special seemed to disappear, his patience for shenanigans (particularly those from Harold, Sid and Stinky) had shattered irreparably, and something as innocuous as a break of silence during role call was guaranteed to trigger a histrionic fit. The children under his tutelage knew that their summer trip was emotionally jarring and were willing to accept that this change of character was part of Mr. Simmons' personal readjusting process. But as Christmas break came and went, they had no choice but to come to make peace with the fact that that the tightly-would, short-fused, and volatile character occupying their teacher's body was in fact Mr. Simmons.

(Early January)

"_AW! Not even the first day back and I'm already in detention after school!" Harold whined as he, Sid and Stinky sat down to eat lunch. _

"_Well here's a bright idea Pink Boy!" Helga snapped from a table over. "Maybe when Mr. Simmons is doing roll call, you could __**actually**_ _**pay**_ _**attention**__ and __**not**__ stuff your pie hole with leftover holiday num-nums!" _

"_But that was my last Mr. Fudgy's Ho Ho Holiday Hazelnut bar. Hazelnut filling, wafers, and a rich layer of nougat… I really wanted to savor it." _

"_Yeah well, in preoccupying what little brain cells you possess between your ears to that damn candy bar, you seemed to have forgotten that Mr. Simmons has kind of become a bit paranoid about losing his class after our little adventure in San Lor-"_

_Arnold's hand suddenly clamped down on Helga's shoulder. Before she could lash out at her secret significant other, he pointed to the general direction of the cafeteria doors two feet away from them. The two tables dared not make a peep as their teacher passed through the lunchroom with all the solemnity of a funeral procession. After thumbing through the array of artificial sweeteners, Mr. Simmons grabbed a fistful of pink packets before turning around and exiting back through the doors. Though he exited, the chill that accompanied him lingered. _

"_Willikers."Stinky gasped._

"_Mm. mm. mm." Gerald clucked while Phoebe gave a shake of his head. _

"_Exactly my point." Helga continued. "And by the way; who said you could touch me Football Head?" _

As if all that weren't enough, Robert's home life fared no better upon returning. Vivid dreams lead to sleepless nights which in turn lead to a constant state of antagonism and hostility. For his husband Peter, something as innocuous as Robert's sandwiches not having enough watercress or any last-minute change of plans bought about nasty meltdowns.

(February 13th)

_Peter hung up the phone then looked at his husband as he buried his face in the morning paper and guzzled coffee. Robert had spent the night trying to forget the nightmare; one which while repetitious, only seemed to increase in vivacity since the school year began after his return to the states. Against every fiber of his body, Peter took a large gulp and prepared to break the news to his husband. _

"_Rob? Honey?" _

"_Yes?" _

"_Remember that guy Joy bought over on Thanksgiving?" _

"_Oh please, how could __anyone__ in a ten-block radius forget Mr. Wonderful?" Robert said snipingly as he folded up the paper. "Rising star at Helpers for Humanity. Volunteer fireman. Vehement loather of football and ardent lover of puppies, scented candles, apple picking, and the works of Siegfried Sassoon." _

"_Yeah. Apparently, Mr. Wonderful decided to give Joy the ol' heave ho, in order to save some money this Valentine's Day." _

"_HA! Good luck to the poor sap having to mop up that mess tomorrow." _

"_Yeah…" Peter began slowly. "About that…" _

_The mustachioed man didn't have to go any further with that train of thought. Robert's demeanor shifted on a dime as he mentally put together who would play Joy's ersatz boyfriend that night. _

"_Dammit Pete!" Mr. Simmons snapped. "Couldn't you tell her we had tickets to Carmen since Octob-"_

"_I couldn't get a word in edgewise." Peter replied defensively. "Now she's deluded herself into thinking I'm her honorary plus-1 for a Galentine's Day dinner at Chez Pierre. Then there was the scene she was throwing over the phone-"_

_Peter could see his poor choice of words floating in midair and entering his husband's ear. The wheels in Robert's head spun, whirred and clicked in a fury. _

"_Oh, a scene? Peter?" _

_Mr. Simmons suddenly hurled his mug across the kitchen. It barely brushed the edges of Peter's hair before crashing into the wall and shattering upon impact. Before he could tell Robert to calm down, the irate educator suddenly grabbed a stack of plates. _

"_WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS?! *crash* AND THAT?! *crash* IF A SCENE IS WHAT IT TAKES FOR THAT OVERCOOKED STRAND OF SPAGHETTI THAT PASSES FOR YOUR SPINE TO CHANGE YOUR PLANS WILLY-NILLY WELL THEN (laughs with rage) YOU HAVEN'T SEEN SQUAT!" _

_Peter could feel his internal organs to clench as the remaining stack of plates plummeted to the floor and splintered upon collision into the tile. After Robert exited the house amidst an unworldly roar and fit of profanity, the blonde male simply swept up the dishes and poured himself a cup of tea. _

Robert ultimately apologized for his outburst later that day, knowing that Joy was a hot mess when it came to recouping her losses from a break-up, and called Dr. Bliss for a referral for a good psychiatrist afterwards. Therapy seemed to help and traces of the old Mr. Simmons seemed to be seeping back...for a while.

Naturally, Curly had to be the one to spoil it all.

(April Fools Day)

"_You are playing with so much fire…" _

_Arnold's plea went in and out of the perturbed preteen's ears as his clothes sailed over the bathroom stall. _

"_Oh Arnold, you hopeless little do-gooder." He chuckled. "If only you had a leg to stand on in this particular matter. For I seem to recall an April Fools Day of yore when you and a certain lady engaged in a battle of wits. How did that end again? Please tell me." _

"_Cur…" Arnold began as his four-eyed peer leered at him from over the cubicle with mock inquisitiveness. "Ok, you're right. What happened between Helga and I that year got incredibly out of hand. And yes, I had a dark moment when I learned she had been playing me like a fiddle. But…this is just needlessly cruel. We all suffered in San Lorenzo." _

_But the poor twisted freak only continued to scat Ride of the Valkyries, to which Arnold simply sighed in resignation and shook his head to his friends as they marched into class in dread. Which was a shame considering how Mr. Simmons seemed so much like his old self that morning. _

"_Good morning class, settle down." He said happily. "Before we can embark on another special day of learning, I have to take roll call…(he grabs the clipboard from his desk)…I see Arnold is here, that's a check. Brainy?" _

"_Present." Came a wheeze from the rear of the room. _

"_Wonderful, wonderful. Curly?" _

_Apprehension strangles the class like a giant hand around their collective throats. The children could only sit and exchange nervous glances as they brace themselves for whatever was to come from the now clammy educator. _

"_He's sick!" Helga suddenly piped. "Just saw him this morning: puking, fever, coughing, whole nine yards Mr. Simmons. I'll take his homework after class today!" _

"_Oh!" Robert sighs in relief. "That's very noble of you Miss Pataki." _

_Mr. Simmons continued reading through the list, but five names later, Helga's lies proved themselves to be in vain; the door violently swung open and with a Tarzan yell, Thaddeus Gammelthorpe bolted through the rooms beating his chest. Tiger patterned body paint adorned his body, nude save for a grass skirt akin to the one he donned during their previous summer's adventure in San Lorenzo. His bowl cut hair had been tied up in a ponytail with a spork (in lieu of a bone) and he continued his animalistic display of jumping, howling, scampering, dry-humping the air and throwing around sandwich bags of chocolate pudding hidden underneath his skirt. For the final act, he vaulted across the class and landed dramatically atop Rhonda's desk with a wild laugh._

"_ME TARZAN! YOU __**HOT**__!" He shouted before planting a kiss on the disgusted dame's lips. _

_The term 'loss for words' gets thrown around a lot. But in spite of some semblance of order being restored and Curly facing a world of punishment for his actions, A colorless and jumpy Mr. Simmons was pulled from under his desk bawling with abandon. Pure gibberish mixed with wails of unfathomable sorrow flowed from his mouth as Peter and Principal Wartz helped him out of the building. With no teacher immediately available to fill in for him, Mr. Simmons' class was dismissed for the day. _

"…Oh, just give me the phone."

By 3:30, the time that should have been their dismissal, an email was sent to all the parents and guardians. As usual, Miles surrendered his phone to the wrinkly hands of his octogenarian father. He and Stella tried their best to get the hang of the technological advances that occurred while struck with the sleeping sickness, but some days were better than others. After continuing to rib his son for not being 'with it', Phil called Arnold over and read the correspondence aloud.

"'Dear parents/guardian. As you may know, our beloved teacher Robert Simmons abruptly announced his retirement and plans to move to Thicket Valley, Montana. Your child's new teacher as of tomorrow will be Julia Skelter. Signed David Millhouse Wartz, PS 118 Principal.'"

Arnold's cheeks reddened slightly at the thought of seeing the one-time object of his schoolboy infatuations again, but any lingering mortification came to an abrupt halt as Stella suddenly piped up.

"Thicket Valley, you don't mean-"

"Yep." Grandpa said flatly. "The little wierdo's home town."

* * *

(That Evening)

Robert and Peter Simmons sat on the porch of their new home as the moving crew hauled the last of their boxes into the foyer. While the bald man in the sweater-vest looked upon the sunset with high hopes for this new chapter in their lives, his husband wore a face of deep skepticism mingled with disgust.

Peter liked culture; opera, art museums, wine tastings, Swiss Cinema, and other such cosmopolitan trappings a town like Thicket Valley failed to offer. But his dismissive attitude towards the new roof over their head went beyond living a life straight out of _Green Acres_; Montana and the people therein didn't exactly smile upon the idea of same sex couples. Thoughts of his childhood came back en masse as he gazed at the last of the sunset, and later at his husband who took him away from all that.

"Goodnight my sweet prince." He said kissing Robert on the forehead.

"Pete." He replied with sorrow. "I know these last few months weren't pleasant. And I know what you're thinking in moving here. I just want to thank you for being supportive for all this."

Peter smiled.

"I hope you get what you need from here. For everyone's sake."


	2. Arnie

(Two months later)

_Dear Mr. Robert Simmons, _

_After reviewing your resume and meeting with you earlier this week, we are delighted to inform you that we have accepted your application for for the position of principal at Regional School 59 beginning this September..._

(Present Day)

The initial novelty of Robert's acceptance kept him and his husband afloat all summer. But as Mr. Simmons seated himself in the principal's chair, all the fear of his last tenure as principal came back to him in spades; Helga swinging from the flagpole, his failed debut of the new PS 118 school song, and of course Curly sailing out the window on a makeshift jet pack made from a fire extinguisher.

"EEP!" He said suddenly. And with a glance around his new office, Robert let out a sigh and decided that a drink of water was in order.

Under any normal set of circumstances, Robert would have appreciated the silence which filled the halls of RS 59, and how it stood in deep contrast to the bustling antechamber of his former school. But as the space between him and his office decreased with each step forward, Robert began to feel a ethereal and suffocating chill envelope the school; the kind reserved for opening a jar of milk you know is spoiled or ascending a staircase in the dark and mistakenly climbing a step that never existed in the first place.

"Excuse me? I'm looking for the water fountain. Can you please help?"

For Robert, an almost familiar figure that crossed his path came to be that invisible step. It wandered in front of his path, also seeking a water fountain to quench his thirst. But something about seeing the deathly pale figure as it turned around slowly to face him took the balding administrator aback. If Mr. Simmons took any emotional refuge in how his oblong-shaped head bought to mind the bright and altruistic boy he once taught, it evaporated once this child greeted his quandary with a dismissive snort and a voice as cold and lifeless as the rest of him.

"Oh. You're our new principal. Follow me."

Mr. Simmons uncertainly followed his new student to the end of the hall.

"So, um…" Mr. Simmons began.

"Arnie." The boy replied. "You came from Hillwood. That's fourteen hours and thirty-five minutes or nine hundred and thirty-nine miles if you took I-90 West. I-84 is a longer drive: seventeen hours and fourteen minutes, or one thousand and fifty-one miles. I like to count things."

"Wow…that's…impressive…" The teacher replied. "Um, you wouldn't happen to know someone named Arnold would you?"

"Yeah. He's my cousin on my mom's side. He lives in Hillwood too. " Arnie replied flatly. "I bet you get a lot of lint from that sweater vest."

"Um…"

"I like collecting lint."

Before Mr. Simmons could formulate any further response, Arnold stopped beside an antiquated ceramic dispenser. Every other sip he took was greeted with a hearty snort, expulsions which made the new administrator's insides churn and decline his opportunity to drink.

"So...which class are you in?"

"Room 213 with Ms. Czek." Arnie replied gesturing to a door bearing the numbers 213.

Upon returning to their respective destinations, a Arnie unceremoniously heaved the aforementioned doorway open and returned to his seat. Mr. Simmons took the opportunity to peer through the window on the entrance; barely hiding the look of abject horror at the sight before him.


	3. Lulu

Detention at RS 59 went something like this: the offending student stayed back anywhere between 30-60 minutes after class had been dismissed in an isolated classroom environment while writing an essay on why what they did was wrong. As the dismissal bell rang for the day, the students of Ms. Czek's class orderly exited their classroom and bounded towards the main doors.

All that is except Lulu.

Even alone and on her way to detention, it was in her nature to flirtatiously saunter through the hallway. Lulu radiated pure unfiltered lust from her midriff bearing green skirt, to her pigtails swaying hypnotically with each step she took in her thigh-high white boots. She knew where to find the aforementioned classroom just as you and I could find any given room of our homes.

Lulu's eyes smoldered with carnal heat and her lips slowly curled in a sly and predatory grin when she drank in the sight of Mr. Simmons sitting at the front desk. To seal the deal, she voluptuously reclined along the threshold. Like a pit boss before a drunken gambler, she knew how the game was to end before it started…

"Hi." She said breathily. "You must be our oh so handsome new principal."

"Lila!" Mr. Simmons yelped confusingly after looking up.

"No. Lulu. I'm oh so certain you have me confused with someone else."

"Oh! You're correct. I apologize." He stammered quickly before clearing his throat. "Please, _Lulu_. Take a seat."

…or did she?

Nonetheless, the redheaded preteen's tenacity was equal to her coquettish nature. In other words;

whatever Lulu wants, Lulu gets. The only question was when. But as the minute hand sat evenly between the giant "3" and "4" on the face of the clock, Lulu twirled her pigtails in disgust while waiting for Mr. Simmons to pay her a piece of his mind. She flicked her pencil off the desk, and with a facetious 'oops' rose up to retrieve it. In bending over, Lulu's already far from conservative attire offered quite view for anyone who dared to look.

From the scream Mr. Simmons let out, she could tell her plan had worked.

"Lil-, eh Lulu!" he shouted nervously while offering her his jacket. "Get back in your seat before someone walks in!"

"Oh, I'm oh so sorry you saw that." She cooed glibly while pushing it away. "That would be awful for all of us, wouldn't it? Lucky for you, we're all alone here. And I'm not exactly the type to open my mouth about things…(she leans in and whispers the rest)…"

Mr. Simmons went rigid and jumped back in shock.

"Does your mother know that you're-"

Lulu responded with a deviant guffaw before Robert could finish his train of thought.

"What's that saying about apples falling from trees Mr. Simmons?" She said once her laughter subsided. "She likes it oh so much when guys look at her…so it's not like she has any moral high ground on how I act around boys…(she sizes him up)…and men."

Not knowing where to begin, Robert remained silent save for an audible gulp. In the meantime, his charge took this as an invitation to keep going as she seated herself on the desktop and posed flirtatiously.

"But yeah, I'm a bit of a flirt. It's oh so obvious, but tragic. Arnie claims to be my boyfriend, and I just humor him in this. He's oh so simple; if its not about lint, flavorless gum, ingredients and numbers, the world just passes him by. And speaking of passing things by, you're being _really _good Mr. Simmons. Our last teacher on detention duty didn't exactly have your will power if you know what I mean…"

All the color drained from Mr. Simmons' face as he put 1 and 1 together. His eyes bulged at the thought of what Lulu had just disclosed, and to be proud of her succubae-like pull over the male population made it all the more horrifying. Giving himself a crisp slap across the face, he inhaled sharply to set Lulu straight on the matter. Even if it meant outing himself to someone whose business it meant nothing. However, as the bell rang again, the nymphomaniacal young lady dropped the act and came to her senses on the dot, much to Mr. Simmon's further consternation.

"Well. That's detention. I guess we'll be seeing each other around, won't we?"

As she walked down the halls, Lulu chuckled to herself as she chalked this encounter to a draw. While Mr. Simmons wasn't exactly eating out of her hand like the last teacher, she did manage to skirt another detention for her attitude. As she disappeared out the door and into the town, Mr. Simmons clutched his heart as he gathered what little he had on him and began his journey home.

**AN: Well, that was intense! Anyway, I have an outline of each characters; (mis)adventures and how Principal Simmons greets whatever challenges arrives from them. However, I could use some help coming up with ideas for Stumpy, Gerard and Kid specifically. PM me if you have any thing (and yes I will credit you at the end). **


	4. Stumpy

Under normal circumstances, being summoned to the principal's office out of the blue over the intercom was nerve wracking. But Stumpy Paulson's circumstances were far from normal. He wasn't a bad kid. Far from it, he was the school genius. Knowing what was coming, he emotionlessly roused himself and gave a half-hearted chuckle about the jokes cracked at his expense at how he was in trouble for getting too many good grades.

Inside the office, Robert Simmons looked over Stumpy's folder. The portrait that emerged was that of a highly intelligent and fairly sophisticated gentleman who drew the short straw on being born in a place so white-bread as Thicket Valley. One would think that a student with such solid grades and a voracious appetite for learning would inspire pride, instead the teachers were ready to shove him out the door.

*knock, knock, knock.*

He stood in the threshold of Robert's office at an even 4'10 and the glasses drew further attention to his already prominent and beak-like nose. But it was his speech pattern which caused the already perplexed principal to drop his jaw. It was crisp and worldly, very much unlike a physically similar student two states away.

"Good morning Principal Simmons. Is there some sort of vexation that I am party to?" He asked innocently.

"Um…no Mr. Paulson." Robert replied. "On the contrary, I called you in because I just had a chance to finally look over your academic records-"

"Oh dear!" He said with a sudden and genuine level of dejection and shock. "I can explain, you see in studying for that last test I neglected to factor in a good night's sleep and-"

"Don't sweat it." Mr. Simmons said reassuringly. "Everyone has a fluke grade now and then. But if you're really must know, that B on last week's Science quiz puts your GPA at 4.37 which still leaves you at the head of the class." Mr. Simmons finished quickly.

Stumpy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Seriously, I don't think you ever really _failed_ anything here." He continued. "In fact, some of the teachers have talked to me about how you are most likely not challenged by the curriculum anymore."

"A sentiment with which I heartily concur." Stumpy began. "They have all but barricaded their classroom doors and stated how my academic brilliance has demolished their grading curve and whatnot. So, I assume that I am going to be treated to yet another persuasive speech rationalizing my transfer into an establishment that would most likely provide me with the academic rigor I am not receiving here?"

"Um…yeah…" The principal began. "I saw that in your file too. On at least eight different occasions since the fourth grade there have been requests to move you into prep schools. Half those times came from Mount Ellis, the most prestigious of all these academies. And you turned them all down."

"Indubitably. It's right there in black and white."

"But why?"

Stumpy sighed sadly.

"It's not that the thought hasn't crossed my mind about leaving here." He began. "Believe me it has. You'll get no argument from me about how coming to this school isn't the challenge it should be…but truth be told, I can't shake the feeling that such schools are more for the parents then they are for the children. It's just something to put on a bumper sticker, or a key chain, or dog leash and gloat about to other parents. This competitive mentality causes gratuitous vexation in kids that leads to anxiety and whathaveyou. And while we students participate in this intellectual cattle race, there are no real opportunities to make lasting friendships, just connections that serve us down the line, or embittered enemies whose vengeance down the line we need to watch out for. I have friends here, as few as there are. And I worry that I might lose them in departing RS 59 in favor of some alliance forged solely as a means to climb that proverbial social ladder."

"Look, I'm not going to lie." Robert said after a despondent sigh and pause that seemed to last for ages. "As admirable and well spoken as your worldview may be, a town like Thicket Valley isn't exactly…well…generous with prospects to the gifted."

Mr. Simmons stopped for a minute and placed an application packet for Mount Ellis on his desk in Stumpy's general direction. The boy could see his principal's hands were tied on the matter, a position made all the more apparent as his voice got uncharacteristically grave while continuing.

"Mount Ellis sent it to me this morning. I'm not going to push you into something you don't want. But I still want you to give some very serious thought to this chance. You may have been lucky that you have had ample episodes of opportunity gracing you like this, but at some point the knocking stops. I'm giving you this application sheet to take home where you can think this over."

Stumpy took the papers and placed them reverently in his homework folder. He walked back to Ms. Czek's class sure of himself in the decision to continue to stay at RS 59, but as he stepped out of the hallway and took a long look at his classmates, the lad's once ironclad resolve began to dissolve like drink mix; his classmates had no questions to ask of him, if anything his return to Room 213 was marked with the same pomp and wonder of a breeze that happened to waft on by.

The only set of eyes which seemed to look up at him upon coming back into the classroom belonged to the class bully Shanna who often ridiculed his answers with the acerbic retort of 'if you're so smart go cure cancer' before cackling at her alleged wit.

"Well, well, look what decided to crawl back." She sneered. "Did Yalevard accept you yet or were they bored to death by what a little geek you are?"

Before Stumpy could answer, the student who sat to his right slowly ascended from his seat. He was a hulking specimen of a kid with biceps the size of boulders. The commanding way he cleared his throat put the fear of God into every occupant in the class, even Ms. Czek.

"Are the four of us going to have a problem?" He asks in a slow but deep voice.

"The four of us?"

"Yeah. You, me and the boys!" He responds with a flex of his arms.

Casting one last venomous sneer at Stumpy, Shanna cowers back into her seat and closes the hood of her over-sized flaming skull hoodie over her face in an attempt to not incur the ire of their mountainous classmate. But despite having the backing of a guy who could bench-press a train, he opened his folder and took a long look at the paper he received from Mr. Simmons moments ago.

The paper.

The class.

The paper.

The class…


	5. Fifi

(one week later)

Imagine if you will, a jack-in-the-box; it shocks you the first time you play with one, maybe once again the second or third time. But after a while, you are bored and maybe even irritated at times knowing the clown will spring from its decorative tin prison just as the last stanza is set to wrap up.

Mr. Simmons hoped that there would come a point where the novelty of the RS 59 kids' uncanny/fun-house resemblances to his former students in the city would fail to surprise him to a similar level. But he had been wrong before. And nothing proved that more than lunchtime when a tell-tale snort startled him from behind.

"AH! Arn…ie." He yelped. "What a…(gulp)…pleasant surprise."

"Hey." He monotonously replied. "So, my cousin told me you're caring or something and give advice?"

"Um. Yes." The addled administrator replied. "I've been known to give the ol' pep talk or two in my day. What's on your mind?"

"Not mine." He says pointing across the way with another snort. "Hers."

With a befuddled shake of his head, Robert Simmons rose himself and took his sandwich to the hunched-over girl Arnie gestured towards. Her head was down and as he got closer, faint sniffles could be heard and a small puddle of tears could be seen pooling atop the table.

"Excuse me." He began gently. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

The girl looked up at Principal Simmons. An unruly mop of jet-black hair framed the entirety of her head, save for a pair of elfin ears. Sitting on her eyes was a thick pair of glasses which only further magnified her despondency, and a singular bucked tooth protruded from the upper right-hand corner of her frowning mouth.

"Shur." She replied bitterly. "Ain't like anyone jostlin' to be my friend an'all."

"Well, let me be the first then. I'm Robert Simmons, the new principal."

"Fifi." The lanky lass replied as Robert suppressed a shocked snort.

"Well…Fifi. Your classmate Arnie told me you were pretty upset today. Mind telling me what has you in a funk?"

"Hey! I make sure to reg'larly get a bath!" Fifi began defensively.

"No…I mean…well, sad. What has you sad today?"

"Oh…well, I guess yeh could reckon it all began when Stumpy told me he was goin' off to that…smarticle bordin' school a week ago."

"I see." Robert began suddenly remembering his former student's little rant. "He did mention he had a couple of friends here."

"Yeah, two." Fifi replied proudly brandishing her index and middle finger in his face. "Me n' Brawny. [He] helped tooter us 'cuppl'uh times with the classwork."

"Yes. Yes, I remember his folder made mention of that." Robert responded. "Well, I bet you and Brawny would be pleased to know he's taken to the Mount Ellis Academy program like a fish to water. He's still in the top of his class and made a couple of friends here and there, but misses you all very much."

Rather than assuage the despondent doppelganger, Fifi suddenly let out an ear-shattering wail and bolted from the eatery like a bat out of hell. With all eyes on him, Robert awkwardly shuffled out of the cafeteria and followed the sounds of sobbing around the hall until he saw her sitting under the water fountain where this bizarre adventure began.

"Fifi. I get that this may be upsetting-"

"UPSETTIN'?" She shouted. "Upsettin' ain't even the start of it. Ya don't need'ta be telling me I'm not th' sharpest crayon in the pack Mr. Simmons. I hear it all the dang time: Dangit Fifi, why did God make you so dumb? Fifi, were you kicked in th' head by a horse? Fifi, I swear you ain't got nothin' between your ears but sh-"

"It's ok, I think I get the point." Mr. Simmons suddenly interjected.

"Stumpy didn't do none of that." She continued calmly. "Smartest kid n'everything and he done never made me feel stupid. Even when I never understood him, he was so patient with me. Like this one-time last summr when me an' him went to out fav-o-rite swimmin' hole…(a sheepish smile breaks across her face)…he was charmin' and all when he said he liked my mayo."

"So you guys had a picnic? That was sweet."

"Huh?"

"Well you said he liked that you bought mayonnaise to the swim-"

"No, no, no, Mr. Simmons. Y'know that…Francy-pants word he knew all the time for the swimmin' wear."

"Oooh, a _maillot_." He replied feeling stupid.

"Yeah, that." She replied as the same smile began to come back. "Makin' me feel all like Cinderella or somethin'…"

"I think I know what this is Fifi, I've seen it once in one of my students back in the city. You like Stumpy, don't you?"

Fifi paused for a moment, thinking back to that first slow-learners class she took some time ago. Something in the way he talked and carried himself with such academic assurance astounded her. Stumpy's greatness was clear, but his goodness was something else entirely. His genuine concern for her wellbeing, and Brawny's too, left a lasting impression no word in his dictionary seemed to define…until now. A simple four-letter word called 'love'.

"It's obvi'us ain't it." She said quietly.

"A bit, not as obvious as other cases, but it's pretty clear you seem to take a shine to him."

"An' now I'll never see him again. Even if I did, an' I told him n'all, Would he be feelin' like I feel? Would he wanna be see with me? Like I said, I'm not exactly one of them cancer curin' rocket surgeons with the words an' all. What sight would that be? Him the genius, me…Fifi…pretty queer when'ya think about it."

Mr. Simmons nodded sadly.

"Well, I know what you mean by that." He began. "I had…a friend once that knew a boy which inspired some strong feelings. And that friend worried and wondered what everyone would think of them if they ever started getting serious."

"Really now?" Fifi said.

"Yeah, this boy's name was Pete." Mr. Simmons continued. "He was lean, good at sports, all the women went completely insane over him. You get the picture, right?"

"Yeah. A real stud. Well, what did your friend do about it?"

"Honestly, nothing." Mr. Simmons replied. "She _couldn't _do anything really. Her family would really blow their stack had they found out about them, although some of them had their suspicions about the two of them…"

"Tha's mighty sad Mr. Simmons."

"It was, for a while. Peter moved to another town, but the two of them met up in college years later, realized that they each harbored something for the other and…well, all in all they seem to be living happily ever after in the grand scheme of things. Nothing is ever perfect, but the both of them were willing to put in the work to keep that happiness."

For a fleeting moment, Fifi's face broke into a small smile at the end of Mr. Simmons' story. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished as a thought crossed her mind."

"But they were lucky. They got to meet up at college. Stumpy'll be the King of Harvard with his grades and all while I'd be plum tickled pink to make it past high school if I work at it."

"True. But in the meantime, I have Stumpy's address at Mount Ellis. If you want I-"

He didn't need to continue.

The glowing grin on Fifi's face said it all.


	6. Gerard

"No more Boston Cream Cobbler? Boy Howdy! That's insane! I'm profoundly insulted."

Drained from yesterday's damage control with Fifi, Mr. Simmons wanted nothing more than to eat his lunch in peace and let the paranoid student ramble away; but as the old saying goes 'duty calls.' As soon as he rose however, the burly cafeteria worker dryly responded his tantrum.

"You got problems Gerard?" The cranky cook curtly countered. "Take it up with Chuckles over there; he got in line before you, so logically the last slice of Boston Cream Cobbler is his."

Following the direction of the cook's thumb, Gerard's eyes narrow in disgust at the sight of a morose looking child contemplating the tray of smiley faced potatoes. His clothing was best described as black and over-sized; from the chain-adorned jeans to the baggy T-shirt bearing the lyrics of a song by the name of 'Mad World'. Topping his head was an equally gloomy-colored stocking cap with the image of an evil bunny. A tuft of the boy's artificially orange hair poked out of the aforementioned head wear, obscuring the left eye, while the one on the right was ornamented with enough eyeliner to make it visible from space. In contrast to the tightly-wound boy in the red 44 shirt, the other child's face was deeply devoid of emotion.

"Eustace." He hissed.

Rather than acknowledge his peeved peer, the short kid in black mechanically scooped a small spoonful of the potatoes onto his plate. One morsel however bounced off the tray where it rolled along the floor, only coming to a halt under the shoe of a pedestrian. Eustace abandoned his tray to wipe up the flattened fry, only half of which was deformed by its run in.

"You smile." He says to his lunch. "You continue to smile though life is painful and capricious. But somewhere deep down, you know that this temporal existence is all your maker had in store for you whilst fashioning your feeble frame…"

With a roll of his eyes, Gerard grabs a bowl of mixed berry gelatin dessert that replaced the coveted cobbler and switches them out before he could come back. He cuts ahead of Eustace (who continues his monologue on how ironic it is that the potatoes smile at the face of their destroyer), only to incur the wrath of the cafeteria worker operating the cash register. For penance, he is charged an extra $1.25 to his tab.

"There goes my money for the country store! That's wicked unfair!"

"Look kid, I'm sorry he did that to you." The cashier responded to Eustace as he strolled up to pay. "We can't do much except comp your dessert for the day."

"It's fine." The boy dully replied. "We are all the bags of flesh bound to the rules of mortality; trudging along the same pathway on the borrowed time allotted to us. Cobbler. No cobbler. It all shall lose meaning on the day when the worms and insects begin to breed where our stomachs once resided."

Eustace proceeded to lay a ten-dollar bill in the palm of the flabbergasted cashier before strolling back to his corner of the room. As he returned to his table, two students bumped into each other on accident sending a glass of water spilling over right onto Eustace's path. Mr. Simmons lurched forward in an attempt to intercept Eustace's fall, but his reaction proved to be in vain; rather than fall over, the boy only skidded for a brief moment but all in all continued along upright and unscathed.

Not a morsel of his lunch fell over either.

(The Next Day)

MACARTHUR BAKERY ANNOUNCES RECALL OF BOSTON CREAM COBBLERS AMID FOOD POISONING CONCERNS.

Peter barely had a chance to finish the first paragraph when he felt the paper being yanked out of his possession. Before he could object, he watched the color drain from Robert's face as he read the article and weakly dropped the periodical back onto the table when finished.

"Sweetheart, wasn't that the dessert you said everyone was making a fuss over?"

"Unfortunately? Yes." Robert dryly replied as he grabbed his keys off the counter.

"Well, looks like today's going to be quite the-"

The front door of their house slammed shut and the faint sound of Robert's motorcycle filled the air as Peter shrugged and went back to his breakfast.

(Later in the day)

Gerard sat in the nurse's office sipping on his second bottle of juice as he waited for his parents to take him home for the day. He had been feeling alright until about 9:45 when the diarrhea hit him like a freight train. As he felt the last bits of defecation leaving his body, Gerard exited the stall and weakly began the trek to the bathroom sink to wash his hands.

"Boy…howdy…" he began as the stomach rumblings started up again.

***SPLAT.* **

"Great…can this get any worse?"

Sure enough, as Gerard waddled back to the stall in hopes of cleaning himself up, fate felt it necessary to answer his seemingly rhetorical quandary; for as he fully turned around, the third stall from the left opened up and out stepped none other than a vibrant and healthy Eustace.

"Such goes the heartless mistress that is providence." He whispered to nobody in particular. "The only blind arbiter of justice in a world gone mad with-"

"Oh, shut up you melancholy little-!" Gerard shot back before a second fit of diarrhea bought his train of thought to a screeching halt.


	7. Kid

It had been a while since Robert and Peter had a Saturday where it was just the two of them with no pressing obligations. They elected to spend it strolling along the bucolic Primary Avenue, the major roadway which passed through Thicket Valley. By noon, the two men had seen all the street had to offer; the oh so quaint country store, being the crown jewel of municipal commerce, was the highlight of their excursion. However little surprises like a cute antique store and a cozy diner dotted the through-way here and there.

Unfortunately, the reality of living in this sleepy and white bread flyover town also hung over them like Damocles' sword. While nobody in Thicket Valley seemed to whip out their holy water and shout passages from Leviticus when Peter and Robert engaged in the same affectionate displays a straight couple would, a homophobic current still ran deep in the hearts and minds of its denizens. Service from their waiter came with an uneasy smile cemented on his face, mentally regarding his customers as if they were hostile space aliens and not fellow members of the human race. Similar stares of consternation were cast in their direction as the two men continued their day; eventually sitting on a bench close to a small ice cream shop and electing to share a mint chocolate chip cone from the aforementioned eatery.

"You know, it's _really_ nice to see the old you back." Peter cooed.

Robert just responded with a quick kiss on Peter's forehead while he wiped up the dribbles from his mustache. Once the last of the sweet had been blotted away, the blonde man began to smile uneasily.

"I feel a 'but' coming on." Robert replied.

"I just wish we could have relocated somewhere with a little more… culture; art, music, opera, theater, you know?" Peter replied with a sigh. "I'm cooped up in the house all day, applying to job after job with nothing to show for it. Life in all sense of the word seems to have come to a crashing halt and…and…"

Peter found his train of thought derailing as he caught a glimpse of the theater intersecting Primary Avenue and yet another winding county road only marked by a series of numbers. The hulking edifice had been abandoned for quite some time as evidenced by box office's broken glass, the posters worn down by years in the elements and falling tiles from the marquis that announced to all gratitude for their past patronage. The two men ventured further to peer into the windows. The tape on one of the sheets blocking the windows had begun to give, causing it to slump and give passers-by a look inside: a fine layer of dust covered the foyer and concession stand while the wall played host to the occasional lewd doodle and/or message left by trespassers. Yet the blonde one's imagination ran wild with ideas of film festivals, art-house premieres, and the occasional foreign flic.

"I know that look honey." Robert said. "It just won't work."

"I know, but a man can dream, can he?" Peter pined. "Maybe the best I can shoot for at the moment is a cutesy local movie picture place where the blockbusters come out a week late and the seats are a little stiffer, but once we set down some roots, we'll maybe have a classic cinema month or-"

"I'd stop right there if you know what's good for you."

Both men slowly turned their heads towards the squash-headed child who seemed to come out of nowhere with the sole intent of leaning against the theater and looking along Primary Ave with a far-off brooding stare. As Robert introduced this child as Kid, Peter could feel his insides begin to churn furiously. Everything about Thicket Valley, and now Kid, reminded him of the childhood he had hoped to escape upon taking up residence in Hillwood. Now seeing this smarmy greaser wannabe poking holes in whatever chance of refinement he hoped to bring to this no-horse town coupled with the fear of prattling around like a housewife all day proved itself the last straw, even after he had taken a deep breath.

"And why, pray tell, would I not?" He began with a hint of condescension. "Would the idea of a movie not ending in '2' make your heads explode? Or would you sneer at the idea of having to read words under the screen?"

"That sounds like something Farnsworth the Film Snob would have said back in the day." Kid continued, clearly undaunted by Peter's remark. "That is before…"

"Before?"

Kid looked around, waiting for Gerard to introduce him as the Warden of Local Lore. But with his friend nowhere in sight, he simply emitted a disappointed sigh and cleared his throat.

_It all began a long time ago. 1987 to be exact. _

_Farnsworth was a proud member of that year's graduating class from New York Film Academy, and that's all anybody knew because he never let anyone forget it. How he wound up in Thicket Valley is anybody's guess. Some say he couldn't find work in the city. Others say he was bound for an acting gig in Hollywood and his car broke down. But all that we know is he latched onto The Odeon Theater quicker than a runty pig at the sight of a sow's open nipple. _

"Farm metaphors. Why did I expect anything less?" Peter muttered.

_All that schooling at NYFA made him unbearable to the rest of the staff. The minute he got here, he berated patrons for their movie choices, sneered at the concessions available, and bloviated to anyone who would listen about his college days made him some arbiter of taste. He would have been fired, had it not been for his work ethic. As much as he thought himself above buttering popcorn and sweeping floors, he did love what the Odeon represented, and that went a long way with the manager when the chips were down._

_It wasn't until some of the movies began to disappear and by happenstance were replaced with showings of Farnsworth's very own student art-house films that the entire staff finally had their fill. Terminating him wasn't enough; he needed to be taught a lesson, and on the Friday after Thanksgiving, such a lesson arrived in the form of the most intellectually insulting film ever put to celluloid: an insipid and widely panned kids film titled "Happy Hoppy Bunny Goes Hollywood." _

_They put their plan into action when the theater was to close for the Christmas season. With five days left before Christmas, they dirtied Theater 3 with day old popcorn and sent Farnsworth to clean it out. As he worked to restore cleanliness, all the doors, even the emergency exits were barricaded and all other films were stored away that is all except "Happy Hoppy Bunny Goes Hollywood." It didn't take long before Farnsworth caught onto their scheme. As the opening credits rolled on the projection screen, he pounded at the doors with abandon but by then, the hiring manager locked the doors for the last time that year and hung a sign in the window telling patrons that the theater was to reopen January 3__rd__. _

_Locked away in the darkened theater, Farnsworth had no respite from that movie. It played and played nonstop to its audience of one. Every now and then, an employee would come to rewind the spool of film and maybe, just maybe toss down a large bucket of popcorn or some candy to consume. Christmas came and went and the old year gave way to the new. Ultimately, the day came for the theater to reopen. But as the first patrons entered Theater 3, the sight that greeted them was that of a broken and mentally scarred Farnsworth chewing on the seat cushion and singing the Happy Hoppy Bunny theme." _

"…In the end, the poor dude was hauled off to the county psych ward." Kid replied with a sorry shake of his head. "But some have said that if you listen really closely in Theater 3 between the final credits and the next showing of any given movie, you can still hear a faint cry for help."

And just as suddenly as he appeared, Kid continued his shuffle along Primary Avenue leaving in his wake two flabbergasted adults processing the story they had just heard. After an indeterminate period of silence, Peter finally spoke.

"Now I have to buy this theater."

"Are you mad? You just heard the kid. They locked someone in there and -"

"-And I'm sure he and Bloody Mary are having a good time with the space people in Area 51." Peter retorted. "Maybe screens won't flicker with the works of Sylvain Chomet or Ari Folman, but it'd be better entertainment than some podunk spook story…Though I can't exactly blame this Farnsworth, a town like Thicket Valley does things to you…"

"_If you say so_." Robert thought to himself while staring down the avenue and suppressing the twitch in his right eye.


	8. Harry

"Mr. Simmons?"

By now, Robert knew better than to be taken aback by whatever doppelganger RS 59 would hurl at his general direction. But old habits are the hardest to kick; and this was especially true as the door swung open and an all too familiar voice came from a lean and preppily attired boy who bore a striking resemblance to a much slovenlier and considerably corpulent former student of his.

"Harold?"

"No. Harry. From the day before yesterday."

"Ah, yes. Right, right, right. Come in." Mr. Simmons said giving his head a shake. "I assume you have Mr. Smith's letter?"

"Yeah." Harry continued with a hint of despondency. "It still stinks that Brawny had to be suspended and all, even if-"

"I am aware." Mr. Simmons said in an equally glum tone. "But sometimes things are a matter of principle."

"Oh yeah? I think it's just a matter of Niccolo and Sigmund liking to see people bleed."

* * *

(Flashback: The Day Before Yesterday)

_His legs were on the verge of giving out at any minute. _

_His heart was ready to pop like a zit. _

_Sweat poured by the bucketful all over his face and about his body. _

_By now, only two things kept Harry running; a) sheer force of habit and b) survival. He could feel Sigmund and Shanna bearing down on him as he gave his all along the black-top trying to keep his distance. In the end, his efforts proved to be in vain as he found himself tripped by a foot extending itself from behind the dumpster. Before Harry even had a chance to brush himself off, a third figure pounced and shoved him against a wall as the twosome finally caught up with him. A well-dressed girl followed this new bully wearing a look of disgust over the smell of the dumpster. _

"_Ok creep. Gimmie." _

"_I don't have any money." Harry whined. _

"_If he ain't got money, he ain't got nothing!" Shanna huffed. _

_Undisturbed by Harry's pleas, the bully cracked his knuckles and yanked off his victim's little red bow-tie. _

"_You're running out of time, creep." He sneered facetiously. _

"_No. Please!" _

"_Little baby gonna cry…Sigmund."_

_Nodding his head in the direction of the dumpster, the bully holding Harry yanked the child out of Shanna's hands and towards the malodorous metal box. _

"_Those are my kind of guys." Shanna gushed. "Real psychos!" _

"_Cool it Shanna, Niccolo is mine!" Noreen shot back as she applied polish to her nails. _

_Niccolo hoisted the plastic covering off the dumpster, an action which only made Harry whine even more. Sigmund gave the blubbering boy a charley-horse, allowing his cohort to restrain him by the ankles while he retained his grip on their victim's wrists._

* * *

"Now you and I both know that I couldn't exactly let Brawny totally off the hook." Mr. Simmons said as he finished reading the note. "But if it's any consolation Harry, your testimony cut down his punishment in a big way. And I'm sure he knows that."

"He does." Harry replied before heading back to class.

* * *

"_Sigmund, drop him." _

_As the two bullies looked at the source of the sudden and authoritative voice that bought their plans to a halt, Harry let out a sigh of relief. From the corner of his eye, he could see Brawny standing against the fence giving his knuckles a crack_.

"_Your words." Niccolo responded sarcastically. _

_One would think that when in a hole with someone like Brawny, that person would do everything in their power to dig themselves upward. Harry's tormentors were no such people._

_Rather than be frightened, the two bullies simply smiled and hurled Harry headfirst into the dumpster. His muffled screaming could be heard inside the dumpster as the refuse latched onto his flesh and seeped into his clothing. For good measure, Shanna sat atop the enclosure and began to kick violently at the siding; further adding to their victim's state of misery. As Brawny turned his wrath towards the foul foursome, Sigmund bashed at his challenger's face with Harry's backpack, while Niccolo sat on him as he struggled to get off the ground. Shanna meanwhile intensified her kicking against the dumpster; clearly her attempt to drive home the futility he found himself facing. _

"_I've got to hand it to you Brawny, I'm not the easiest guy to disappoint." Niccolo began. "_[It] _takes a __whole__ lot to get under my skin, but congratulations; you've just won the solid gold fidget spinner." _

_Niccolo permitted his cohorts ten seconds to giggle over his rapier witticism before silencing them with a wave of his hand and continuing. _

"_Look at you." He sneered. "Being held back has softened you, turned you into a massive pusscake. Sigmund and I could've used a guy like you for our little outfit, but no…" _

"_No is right." Brawny grunted. "I'm not like you. I've sat with these kids, ate with these kids, learned with these kids. I didn't see you care when I was failing class, but they did. Stumpy and Fifi especially. I owe the two of them a debt that-" _

"_Yeah, yeah and I'm sure your Nobel Peace Prize is in the mail." Shanna interjected after leaping off the dumpster._ _"We gave you a chance at real power, and you flushed it away."_

"_You know, speaking of flushing. "Niccolo began. "I was wondering this morning how exactly we could best exhibit our pity with the way you've wasted your potential. And right now, I think I got me one of those idea things people keep talking about." _

"_Yo, Noreen. Get that phone out. This is gonna be legendary." Shanna called as her cohorts hoisted Brawny up. _

_Oddly enough, she was right. _

_Before either Niccolo or Sigmund could lay the smackdown on Brawny, the dumpster lid finally busted open and Harry took his first breaths of clean air. Seeing him break out of the malodorous prison proved to be that metaphorical can of spinach motivating him to slam Sigmund against the wall. As Shanna attempted to outrun Harry, Brawny doled out a ferocious beating on the two miscreants, ending with the two of them hurled into the same dumpster where they sought to imprison his friend. _

"_Brawny. My office. Now."_

* * *

It pained Robert to open the filing cabinet and pull out the manila folder belonging to Brawny; empty other than the report detailing the incident. Up to now, he had (behaviorally speaking) been a model student. But rules were rules. Given the scale of injury both Niccolo and Sigmund walked away with after the fight (a shattered jaw and three fractured ribs respectively), Brawny found himself staring down a world of punishment which included expulsion, anger management and time in a scared straight program…that was until Harry filled him in on the full story. Though Robert admired Brawny coming to the defense of his fellow classmate, said admiration wasn't enough to completely give him a mulligan on this one. He was to be suspended for a month and a half and issue a written apology to the parents of the two boys.

After Robert shut the cabinet containing the RS 59 student disciplinary reports, he slowly makes his way back to his desk hoping for a moment of silence to catch his bearings. Only for such hopes to be dashed as a bloodcurdling scream filled the hallway…


	9. Rhoda

"WHERE YOU GOING CORKSCREW? YOU _KNOW_ MOMMY NEEDS HER SUGAR!"

Here's a random fun fact: Grizzly bears can run up to speeds of 55 kilometers per hour (or 34 mph). Humans, on the other hand, clock in at an average of 45 kilometers per hour (or 28 mph). This speed is slightly less than a house cat.

With that in mind, the only word to describe Rhoda's running was ursine. Between her haste and the fact that she had resorted to using all fours as she rounded the hallway of RS 59, the boy in her sights gave his all to keep the unkempt and somewhat stocky girl from completely overtaking him. But it was still not enough. He could feel his legs starting to betray him just as a locker door began to open. Seizing his chance, the weary and frightened boy leapt in with seconds to spare before his unrequited lover turned the corner. He had hidden in one of the lockers but betrayed himself with a massive sigh of relief once he saw her pass. Now with nobody to blame but himself, he found refuge in the one open door that presented itself; Mr. Simmons' office.

Cowed by the sudden presence of the agile intruder, Robert could only stand and watch wordlessly as Corkscrew quickly slammed the door shut and proceeded to barricade it with one of the two office chairs before scampering under the desk in the fetal position.

Um…" Robert began.

Like a Prairie Dog peeking from its dwelling, Corkscrew quickly shot up from underneath the oak bureau and gave the addled administrator a crisp 'shush!' before returning to his time and thoughts.

* * *

_It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this? _

_Though more technically, it started with a box of kisses; the hazelnut and caramel ones to be exact. _

_Rhonda was always formidable when it came to how little she cared in regards to how she looked, working on a pig farm will do that. Yet I could see the façade take a couple of hits as Valentine's Day came around. Naturally, Shana and Noreen wielded the proverbial hammer. _

"_Your stupidity is actually admirable. I honestly stand in awe of how you of all people expect anything short of a dead rat in your desk on Valentine's Day." _

"_I mean look at you Rhoda. You dress in clothes even a scarecrow would dismiss and possess appalling lack of hygiene. I mean, that matted and mussed up mane of yours must be teeming with at least a thousand insects…(shudders)… But what surprise is that when your family's line of work."_

"_A thousand? Make that nine hundred and ninety-nine." _

_As evidenced by the evil smile, it's clear she is savoring the look of fear on Noreen's face as she pulls a rubber cockroach off her person-hood and flings it at the prissier of her two tormentors. With a final scowl as if to say 'I hope you have enjoyed walking', Shana rushes after her friend who by now had descended into hysterics and bolted down the hallway in terror. _

_But once the girls are gone, it becomes clear that Rhoda was obviously cut by their words. The upper lip she had kept stiffened begins to tremble and the beginnings of a small river of tears make themselves manifest in the corner of her eye. And I, I a bystander solely present for a drink of water chose to do something about it. _

_My intentions were strictly platonic, just a nice little box of her favorite candy. I even switched out the cheap heart-shaped tin it came with to further highlight the non-romantic nature of this gesture. Looking back though, I should have seen the warnings when I and the rest of the class saw just how big a smile it put on her face…_

_Rhoda's joy over her gift lasted well past Valentine's Day, as did her obsession with finding out who had sent it to her. Foolishly, I hid the tin in the deepest darkest recesses of my locker and thought nothing of it from there. In fact, I thought nothing of it to such an extent that I completely forgot it was there after a while…that is until she volunteered to help me clean out my locker on the last day of school before summer break._

* * *

Mr. Simmons looked back at the door before crouching down next to the kid in an attempt to coax him out from his hiding space and speak with him man to man.

"I'm not usually this curt, so let me apologize for starters." The kid began. "I just don't want…(mouthing the word Rhoda)… to know I'm here."

"Rhoda?"

"You know, that messy girl in Ms. Czek's class with the patched overalls, short ponytail, and perpetual stain of chocolate around her mouth?"

"Ok…" Mr. Simmons began as he painted a mental picture. "But let's start with you. First of all, I want you to come out from under my desk and then tell me your name."

Much to his further surprise, the kid obeyed; albeit slowly. As Corkscrew finally seated himself in the chair not being used to hold back the amorous girl, a queasy and dark feeling began to overcome Robert Simmons as he took in the sight of this eerily calm child. Of all the students thus far that defined déjà vu, the pompadoured boy with the orange shorts, red rectangular glasses and bi colored shirt (mustardy yellow, save for a brown collar and bottom) sent every nerve of the apoplectic administrator into overdrive. Even his voice, calm and collected as it was, had a cartoonish quality eerily similar to one particular member of PS 118's student body.

"Most kids call me Corkscrew…"

Like a Klyntar latching itself to its host, Mr. Simmons found the bizarro version of _himself_ creeping back with a vengeance on those five words alone. Though Corkscrew talked at length about his frustrating so-called relationship with Rhoda and the origins therein, flashbacks of Curly's maniacal display that April morning danced in the place of the utterly normal child seated in his office; from the dry-humping of the air, to the hurling of chocolate pudding bags he threw around like monkey poop as well as the uninhibited and uncalled for kiss he planted on Rhonda.

Suddenly an animalistic knocking at the door brings both men back to reality. The entrance way rattled violently with each pound Rhoda delivered.

"I know you're in there." She sing-songed. "You and I are meant to be whether you like it or not Corkscrew. _LET ME EEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNN_!"

"You gotta help me Mr. Simmons." Corkscrew pleaded. "She'll eat me alive."

"_Let her_."

"Open this damned door this instant!"

"Please, just open the window. I won't go all that far."

"_And why should you help Thaddeus? Need I remind you of all the times he terrorized this school_…"

Rhoda begins to scratch her fingers into the door.

"I can see the boy's bathroom from here Mr. Simmons. Just let me bolt across the blacktop"

"…_Framing Eugene for pulling the fire alarm because he used that stupid pencil. Holing himself in Wartz's office and pelting everyone with dodge balls because he didn't get to be ball monitor…_"

"I'll wave to you from the window. Hell, here's my lucky pen…(Corkscrew places a quirkily colored Wankyland pen on Mr. Simmons' desk. By now he is starting to cry before his principal)…I swear on it I won't do anything crazy!"

"…_Not to mention all those times he harassed Rhonda, or when he freed the animals from the zoo, or that time he used the fire extinguisher as a jet pack…_"

"I can almost smell you in there. You smell so nice."

"…_And you let it all slide, didn't you? All those times you stood there like a cuck as he got wilder and wilder. Only to be stuffed away in some Funhouse Mirror version of everything you ever knew and loved. That's your reward isn't it Robert?" _

A sudden chill descends upon the room as a chunk of wood and the handle whiz through the air and land atop Mr. Simmon's desk. Slowly it opens, the ominous creak muted when stacked against a chorus of libidinous chortling coming from Rhoda as she passes through the threshold.

"Oh Theodore." She whispers. "The doorknob that was keeping us apart is gone…"

"Isn't."

"That."

"_Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice_?"


	10. Hilda Part 1

(Two Months Later)

_I, Robert Simmons, hereby express my desire to resign effective 3:30pm today from the office of Principal at RS 59 and ask for transfer to Hillwood, WA's PS 118 as immediately as possible…_

Once the note found itself folded in thirds with certainty and the envelope sealed, Mr. Simmons took one last look in the mirror before heading downstairs. Much of the bruising had begun to heal and the scratches had become no more noticeable than a healing paper cut.

He was really lucky, a phrase the doctors kept telling him every other minute, Rhoda's weight and strength on its own should have fractured a bone or twelve but didn't. Nonetheless, his injuries warranted a month and a half of administrative leave and some time on a whole host of painkillers. But if it helped Corkscrew make a break from her amorousness, it was worth it right?

Not really.

After tucking his letter of resignation resolutely beneath his sweater vest, Mr. Simmons descended the stairwell that morning with all the joy and motivation of a prisoner on his way to the gallows. Each step down only bought into focus not only the hell he endured in the past year or so but also everything he had given up in the name of this failed attempt at restoring his mental health…

*thump*

…_the bizarro versions of your beloved PS 118 kids_…

*thump*

…_the hyper-right-wing hamlet patting itself on the back for not pelting rocks at you and Peter over your 'unGOdLy LiFEstYle'_…

*thump*

…_and the worst part of it all is that you know you can never go back to Hillwood. Not without having to relive all that you and your students endured in San Lorenzo_…

*thump*

…_Curly was always a few fries short of a kid's meal, but he did what he did because he __knew__ you were a wreck after that stupid trip. A trip that only happened_…

*thump*

…_all thanks to that self-righteous Shortman kid and that hole in his heart over mommy and daddy_.

"Good Morning sweetheart."

Peter gave Robert a quick peck on the cheek before darting about the kitchen in a fit of pure _joie de vivre_ as he put the finishing touches on their breakfast-spinach and cheese omelets with a pitcher of fresh OJ. Were it not for the fact that he had woken up to this tableau for the past week and a half, Robert would have been taken aback by his husband's conduct. But ever since the deed to the Odeon officially bore his name, Peter's attitude about having to call Thicket Valley home had changed considerably.

"I see the glow of being a theatre owner hasn't dulled on you." Robert replied sheepishly.

"And don't you know it." Peter said with an ecstatic sigh. "Theater 3 still needs a whole hell of a lot work, I still need two more projectionists, and the popcorn makers are woefully outdated. That said, we got one, two and four working already with five set to open by Sunday and as of yesterday, plumbing works in both bathrooms."

"Yeah…that's…I got to head to school."

"Honey, don't you at least want some toast?"

But the balding man just walked through the threshold, simultaneously ignorant of his spouse's concern and beside himself with fury over his newfound sense of municipal pride. As the engine idles, he looks back at the house he and Peter have called home since last spring. A twinging feeling comes over him that maybe, just maybe, pulling the plug on life here would devastate his husband; a man who finally found something of worth in Thicket Valley.

Naturally, it vanished as quickly at it had arrived.

"…_Look at him, happier than a pig in its own crap. Once upon a time Peter would have rather eaten fiberglass than move away from the city. And now he's over the moon about setting up roots in this god-forsaken dump. And I, I have to deal with the RS-59 freak show AND play happy husband as he finds the fulfillment that the doctors said was supposed to be mine…" _

Robert enters the building to see the superintendent, an easygoing scarecrow of a man, chatting with a youthful and vibrant female teacher; the kind of teacher he was once upon a time in the city. The kind whose eyes gleamed with life over the academic and personal well-being regarding those under his tutelage.

"Ah, Robert." The superintendent says with a hearty slap on the back. "So glad to see you finally made it. I'm sure you've met Ms. Czek."

"I haven't had the pleasure up to now." Robert said tepidly shaking his colleague's hand. "Your students on the other hand…"

"Yes. All extraordinary, aren't they?" She said with a smile. "I can think of no greater honor than to be the farmer tilling the soil of their hearts, minds, and souls day in and day out."

Knowing that it would be rude to inquire of what cult she was in, Robert quickly shook his head and asked to speak a moment with the superintendent about an important matter regarding his job.

"All in time my good man, but right now we have an assembly to attend-"

"I'm sorry? An assembly?"

"Why yes, one of Ms. Czek's students was selected to represent our school in the Montana Youth Oriented Poetry Expose. I was just telling her we hadn't had this honor since 1947. Didn't you get the email I sent you about the matter?"

"Oh! Do forgive me, all that recuperating and things become a blur." Robert said with a chuckle. "Now who exactly is the honored student?"

"Hilda Pulaski."


	11. Hilda Part 2

One by one, the students funneled into the RS 59 auditorium. Fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth graders all set themselves into the plastic chairs and struggled to get comfy. Their entrance was orderly, save for their chorus of excited whispers; many of which came more from the fact that this was a brief respite from their daily academic grind rather than out of any genuine regard for their fellow student's good fortune.

Mr. Simmons numbly oversaw Ms. Czek's class each take their seats. The spectacle of the student body did nothing to shake the crippling sense of detachment which had set in the moment his heart metaphorically plummeted through his intestines in shock. Were he more prone to emotions, he would have smiled over seeing Stumpy (who had been given leave for the day to see this presentation) receiving a warm and lingering embrace from Fifi after finding his way through the crowd; or felt his stomach go into knots from the subtle kiss Lulu sent his way. Instead, Robert greeted both with a sense of almost robotic indifference. Before long, Ms. Czek bounded to the microphone.

"Good morning students." She began in a flowery and jubilant tone. "As many of you know, my name is Lorena Czek, teacher of sixth grade homeroom and literature."

A tepid applause greets her, nonetheless she continues.

"As many of you know, each year we submit the writings of our extraordinary students to the Montana Youth Oriented Poetry Expose, a statewide contest celebrating a student's extraordinary level of talent in regards to the elegiac arts…"

"Why do eagles need poetry?" Fifi whispers to Stumpy.

"Elegiac is just another term for poetic." He responds.

"As many of you also know, the last time a poem from our school was even considered for this prestigious honor; Harry Truman was president, Jackie Robinson breaks the color barrier in baseball, and the first UFOs were sighted-"

"And it's only a matter of time before they get us!" Gerard pipes up.

"Quit overreacting Gerard and cool out." Kid replies shoving his friend back into his seat as the auditorium erupts into laughter.

"Um…thanks for that." Ms. Czek says dismissively. "But yes, the long and short is that it has been almost 3/4ths of a century since our school was represented in this forum…and today I can say with great pleasure that this changes thanks to our very own Hilda Pulaski."

Mr. Simmons went numb as he watched Hilda enter from the left wing of the stage. Just because he knew what was coming didn't mean it affected him any less. Given that RS 59 was a winking mockery of PS 118, it was only a given that this Hilda Pulaski was going to mirror a certain blonde and bow-tied budding bard whose work he graded once upon a time. Sure enough, she didn't' disappoint; her white shirt with a frilly collar, pink overalls with a red stripe around the waist, a matching pink scrunchie holds her blonde hair in an erect ponytail, and that smile, that easygoing smile which seems to be the default setting of her face.

Why her? Why did Hilda cause every drop of blood to freeze in his veins?

It doesn't occur to him until Ms. Czek gushes about the 'extraordinary' privilege it has been for her to see Hilda's 'extraordinary' poetic talent bloom under her watch. Two fundamental truths crystalize into the answer; number one, Helga's poetry had been far advanced for an average fourth grader, both in technique and subject matter. Her feelings for Arnold ran deep, clearly, and seeing them manifested and explored on paper (free from the jeering of her classmates or the possibility of Arnold's rejection) had been one of the joys of his teaching career in the city. Number two, everything in Thicket Valley was upside down in comparison to Hillwood. A personality void Arnold with a possible lint fetish, a licentious Lila, a nerdy and slightly jerkish Gerald, a sociopathic Sheena, an intellectual Stinky, an obedient Curly with some moral compass…the list went on. Given this pattern, all he needed now was for this prepubescent poet laurate to read some saccharine mish-mosh about kittens riding unicorns across the marshmallow sea.

Finally, Hilda Pulaski steps up to the microphone, clears her throat and pulls out a crisp copy of her award-nominated poem; completely unaware that she is all that stands between Robert Simmons and utter lunacy.


	12. Angie

(Present)

It wasn't that he was crazy…just introspective.

Beneath the buzzing neon sign of the Odeon's concession stand, Robert Simmons always found himself transfixed by the popcorn maker. The strong hull of the kernels that get poured into the oven contain the seed's hard, starchy shell endosperm with 14–20% moisture. Upon being heated, the shell turns to steam. As pressure from the steam continues to build, the hull ultimately ruptures; allowing the kernel to forcefully expand, cool down, and be enjoyed in full.

As the kernels ruptured one after from the overhead cooker and landed amidst the rest of the popcorn, he meditated on this process and the chain of events running from San Lorenzo to Thicket Valley; a line that saw his sanity winnowing and straining like those seeds until the inevitable pop.

* * *

(Flashback: Two and a half weeks ago. POV Mr. Simmons.)

As it stood, Peter was already the kind of person who could drift to sleep with ease; but since he began the mission of making the Odeon great again, it was as if he hit REM the second his head graced the pillow. All this only made Robert's escape all the easier. With a final kiss on the envelope of his goodbye letter, the balding and neurotic educator went gently into the cold night and revved up the car in preparation for the long journey he was to undertake.

The little house he and Peter shared grew smaller and smaller with each passing mile. As it finally vanished over the horizon, Robert began to feel misty eyed. But he knew Thicket Valley wasn't the place for him anymore. All that stood between him and Hillwood now was a limitless expanse of road, a couple of state borders, and the memory of a certain assembly from earlier that day which continued to devour the remaining fragments of his psyche.

_O luminous orb in indigo sky,_

_King of Asses enthroned on high,_

_Foisting rose-colored glasses upon the eye_

_Of every mortal passing by._

_Like clockwork, there came a brief wave of tittering throughout the auditorium upon her use of the word 'ass' in a school setting. Once the rest of the staff shushed them into submission, Ms. Czek gestured for Hilda to continue reading. _

_I gaze now not in awe but disdain,_

_It's almost as if with each wax and wane_

_You blatantly revel when beholding my pain_

_O'er this Knight of tinfoil with clay for brains._

_Up to this point, Hilda had been looking up at the state flag pinned to the rear of the auditorium as she recited her piece. But upon reaching this portion of her poem, she slowly turned her eyes toward the collection of children she shared a class with; zeroing in on a peculiarly-headed boy in plaid and the girl on his right. _

_Shall I list each painful flaw_

_From cowlicks akin to sickened straw_

_To dullard inflections that spew from your maw_

_(Unless you've found some gum to gnaw)_

"_Boy howdy, she's really letting Arnie have it isn't she?" Gerard whispered to Stumpy. _

"_It's evident she's quite frustrated with the apathetic manner in which he regarded her feelings all this time." Stumpy replied to his friend. _

"_Like he done ignor'd her fer too long or summp'tin." Fifi added. _

"_Makes you wonder what's cooking between the poor dude's ears." Kid mused. _

"_Pain." Eustace said flatly. "A dismal netherworld he and he alone bought upon his temporal coil. Go Hilda, hurl him into the dungeon of his own making. Let your words be as rats feasting on his flesh." _

_Or what of affections __he__ has to waste_

_On the emerald harlot who strolls through the place._

_With concupiscent smiles glued on her face_

_As she shatters his trust with actions unchaste._

"_Damn. Knocked. The. Feck. Out." Shanna whispered to herself. "I got to pick her brain some time for insults." _

"_Just don't pick Hilda's brain for any fashion advice." Noreen sneered. "I mean hello, that scrunchie? Were the 80's having a yard sale?" _

_Human in form, but dish-rag in sort_

_How foolish was I in desiring to court?_

_I bear my soul, and he gives what retort?_

_Why, his congested trademark snort._

_As if rehearsed, a conveniently timed snort escapes from Arnie's nose and echoes throughout the auditorium. Apart from that, he seemed not to exhibit any palpable emotion to being roasted in front of the entire school. Instead, he just blinked (one eye and then the other as was his fashion) before stretching. With one hand he scratched his sickly straw-colored hair while the other wrapped around the shoulder of his girlfriend whose permanently lustful demeanor curdled to that of boredom and thinly veiled contempt._

_To think that my girlhood once trembled with passion_

_Whilst beholding your face impassive and ashen_

_My daydream may plummet and come to earth crashing_

_But I'll live my life free from you as a distraction._

_It wasn't a standing ovation, nor did her peers demand any encore. But Hilda didn't care. _

_As she exited the stage to a lukewarm round of applause, she cast one subtle glance to her muse before he passes through the threshold and into the hallway. _

"_Figures he'd say nothing." She mutters to herself. "The fool has all the depth and emotional complexity of a wiffle ball." _

"Ok…that's enough of that." Mr. Simmons says to himself before turning on the radio. For a minute he fiddles with the tuner in that hope against hope that something will penetrate the silence of the night other than static. Sure enough…

"…I will prevail, right through this gale. Right through wind and snow and ice and rain and sleet and fog and hail…"

Naturally, of all the possible songs, this was the one that had to play. The irony of it all was

(of course) not lost on Robert as he buried his head on the steering wheel and began to frustratedly ask if this could somehow get any worse-sure enough, fate decided to answer his question. A booming and metallic thud followed by a dying squeal bring Robert back to reality at warp speed. He exits the car to view the damage; the driver's side headlight had been destroyed and laying at the side of the road was a large swine squealing in unfathomable pain.

Before Robert could whip out his phone, a potent set of headlights belonging to a large pickup truck suddenly shine in his direction. Upon seeing the injured pig and Mr. Simmons panicking at the side of the road, the driver brings his vehicle to a stop. He was an imposing yet slim man with coarse red hair and a unibrow to match. He gives the scene a once over while cleaning his obtusely framed glasses and setting them back to rest on his bee-sting of a nose. Wordlessly, pulls out a pistol and fires a single shot behind the animal's ear; an action which given the look on his face he is loath to do. With the animal dead, he makes an attempt to haul it onto the bed of his truck, an obviously difficult task given the beast's size.

"Hey buddy, can you spare a hand?"

His voice was gruff and familiar to Robert, though he didn't know where to place it. Regardless, he musters up all the strength he could to help haul the animal off the road.

"Now for your ride." He continues hitching Mr. Simmons' car to the trailer hitch. "Sorry I ain't a tow truck."

"It's alright, I'm just grateful you're out here at all…um…"

"Angelo." He replies holding out his hand. "Angelo Green. Most folks call me Angie. Now hop in."

Upon returning home, Angie got right to work cutting up the pig Mr. Simmons had inadvertently killed, much to the man's amazement. In a matter of minutes, the hulking beast was nothing more than healthy and clean chunks of prime pork and bones which Angie insisted Mr. Simmons take with him.

"I mean, being a vegetarian and all I can't." He argued. "But I tell you what, my dad would have been tickled pink by this turn of events."

"Your father?"

"Marty Green. He taught me everything I just did. He was a butcher, owned a shop over in Hillwood, Washington."

Now it finally came to him.

"Green Meats? I used to live in Hillwood. I knew your father's shop. My husband and I used to buy the best cuts in town from him. I didn't know he had a son."

"Yeah well, when you make your living in the distribution of meats, having a professed vegetarian for a son doesn't exactly make for a good image." Angie began sadly. "We hadn't spoken in years over it especially after I moved out here and began growing vegetables. Still though, I keep tabs on the old man and heard he found some Jewish kid to mentor. So, I guess I'm happy that the family business keeps going somewhat. But enough about me, what brings you out here?"

Mr. Simmons took a deep breath and began to recount the last year and a half to Angie. This time, as he told the story of the fluke contest, La Sombra's prison, the mental trauma upon returning stateside, Curly's April Fools stunt, and the failure of getting his life back together since then, something seemed to feel different; as if the burden was finally coming off. Here was someone who could understand having to make the decision of leaving a lot of what he loved because that little he loathed was doing so much damage to him.

"…and then after Hilda read her poem I just…couldn't take it anymore. I had to get back to Hillwood."

"Mhm." Angie said. "And what were you hoping to gain going back?"

Mr. Simmons looked at Angie incredulously.

"Let me explain it again, and _please_ tell me where I lost you; 1) I'm Principal of RS 59 a school which might as well be christened 'Body Snatcher Academy'. 2) My mental health is teetering on a the proverbial cliff-side. 3) I'm a homosexual living in one of the most overbearingly red states in existence and 4) the mental healing that that I was supposed to be receiving has instead been going to my husband."

"No. I hear you loud and clear." Said Angie. "But really ask yourself, what do you gain from going back to Hillwood? Especially alone. Ok, yeah there are things that are familiar,

maybe by some stroke of luck you get your job back teaching the kids and while we are at it meet a new man. But what happens when all that trauma decides to come out and play again?"

Mr. Simmons wanted to speak. He felt the rebuttal fomenting on the tip of his tongue but then dissipating via that deep exhale people let out when they know deep down, they have no leg to stand on in this argument. He thought back to the day Curly pulled that dastardly prank; one minute he was doing roll call in an orderly classroom and the next he was dodging baggies of faux monkey poop.

"_Curly…I don't…Thaddeus Gammelthorpe you… Don't you dare make me"…*splat*…"ME TARZAN YOU HOT"…"Ew! Someone get him off me"…"EENIE OONIE WANNA EENIE OONIE WANNA…"_

_I was in such a state of shock. I completely blacked out I can't remember a thing. It wasn't until later, when I felt the loving hands of Peter placing a weighted blanket on my shivering frame that I realize just how far that day had pushed me. _

_As I see his forgiving smile, all the nastiness I have doled out to him comes back to me in spades, but before I could even open my mouth to apologize he smiles reassuringly and with an embrace tells me that he forgave me and would follow me to the ends of the earth if it meant a return of the man he fell in love with. _

"That morning changed on a dime." He said slowly.

"And you had your husband with you…even before that morning." Angie said. "That man must have one hell of a heart to stick though it all.

"Yeah, he did."

_Peter was never one to thumb through the old Senior yearbook. For all the time we called this place home, it sat on the bottom corner of the bookshelf. The hard-black cover would have been mistaken for an empty space were it not for a golden cursive engraving on the spine: Thicket Valley High. Class of '71. Yet as our belongings make their way to the moving van, he pours himself a glass of chardonnay pulls the book off the shelf and eases himself into the recliner with a forlorn sigh. _

_As a military brat, you wind up calling parts of the US your childhood home at one point or another. I knew he called Thicket Valley his hometown during adolescence and loathed every minute of it. The way he bristled upon breaking the news that the only job available was there said it all. _

_But it isn't until I see him linger on the Senior prom photographs that I understand the depths to which he despised the place. The Peter Harrington Thicket Valley last saw was a very handsome man balancing between the tightrope of rugged and cultured. Though he swam and lifted weights, Peter's profound lack of interest in sports (particularly football) was well known, __as was his taste for stereotypically non-masculine pastimes such as opera and poetry. While he had the __girls eating out of his hand like goats at a petting zoo, the strained grin of sharing Prom royalty with Roze MacNeille spoke volumes toward his romantic preferences. _

_As Peter puts back the yearbook, he wipes away a steady stream of tears and suppresses a sniffle. Telling himself that moving back is for the best knowing the fragile state of my health. _

"Yeah…how do you…"

"Because you're not the only one who found himself here." Angie replied. "Sure I thought about going back when my crops failed or when I felt a little too cold or lonely on nights like this."

"But what stopped you."

"Mostly the thought of my father. He's always going to try and strong-arm me into the family business and I'm always going to see him as a peddler of death. Neither of us are going to have peace there, so I stay here. Is it ideal? Hell no. Do I miss him? Yeah, at times. But when I think of the inevitable arguments, he and I are going to have over our lifestyles…I can't help but wonder just how worth it going back is. Especially when I got my farm to work on."

The conversation between Rob and Angie came to a halt as the former of the two gentlemen's cell phone began to ring. Angie could hear Peter beside himself with worry while wondering where his husband had vanished off to. But before Mr. Simmons could respond, Angie gestured for the phone.

"Mr. Harrington…yeah your husband and I are waiting for a mechanic…No. No need to worry, he's not harmed or anything…the car…yeah, it's going to be a…mhm…well, I'd say three hours given that it's not exactly…Ok. By the way, you like pork?"

* * *

(Back in the Present)

"Hey, Mr. Simmons."

Robert looked up to see a foursome of familiar faces smiling in his general direction. But rather than be taken aback by the presence of Stumpy, Fifi, Brawny and Hilda, he gives them a friendly wave as they make their way to pick out concessions.

"How are you enjoying the Administrative end of Mount Ellis?" Stumpy asked.

"It's nice." He said. "Definitely peaceful. How about you guys? I assume you're on a double date?"

Fifi nodded proudly.

"Brawny n' Hilda really hit it off after you left." She giggled. "So every weekend we go to the movies."

"What can I say?" He replied. "I liked her poem. It made me feel things."

"Well that's very nice." Mr. Simmons said. "What are you seeing? 'Killer Vegetables from Space II', 'Evil Twin V, kind of a shame that it all seems to be sequels and reboots now."

"Actually, we've come to enjoy the little classic movie matinee your husband has put on Saturday nights." Hilda said. "And tonight's feature about the Claymation puppy that fights the devil for an orange seemed especially intriguing."

"I'm glad." Robert said. "I was a little worried because his movies are a bit out there at times. Citizen Kane and Three Stooges are one thing, but cartoons by Władysław Starewicz are quite another."

As quick as they arrived, the four children got their food and left for their movie, leaving Robert back alone with his thoughts.

"Oh hey, did you want to join us?" Hilda asked. "Admission to these things is free."

"No. I just came to tell Peter that the chimenea he ordered is set up now and that there'll be a fire when he comes back." Robert said. "You kids have fun."

* * *

(Later that night)

The last pieces of pig had finally sunk into his belly and the fire continued to roar as if to defy the lightless chill of evening. As Peter cleared up the dishes and empty bottle of Sauvignon Blamc, Robert Simmons reclined in his seat and looked up at the night sky over Montana.

If anyone had ever told Robert that he'd find himself achieving peace here in Thicket Valley, he'd see to them receiving a urine test; but as he looked up at the full moon ornamenting the smog-less expanse of atmosphere, he could feel the corners of his mouth pull upward into a satisfied smile. Sure, they were the only same-sex couple in the area, the state was a cultural tar pit, and the town would occasionally throw him an eerie reminder of the life he and Peter lived before. But for the time being, all Robert knew was that he was finally at peace.

Suddenly the bushes began to shake and a light shone in his face. After letting out a startled yelp, Robert found himself face to face with none other than Arnie.

"Hey Mr. Simmons, I'm looking for my pet pig Abigail. Have you seen her?"

THE END

**Author's Note: Special thanks to ****Kryten**** for giving me ideas for additional Thicket Valley characters, as well as ****CreativelyBankrupt87**** for all the comments as well as the idea for Stumpy's portion of the story. **


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